


Through

by deawrites



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 13:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deawrites/pseuds/deawrites
Summary: Sometimes the only way out is through.





	Through

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own, but feel free to point them out if you find any. All comments, criticisms, kudos, suggestions and requests welcome.
> 
> Story idea by my wife. Thank you Baby!

**Through**

The sun was so bright it blinded him, but after a moment of holding his arm across his eyes the world came slowly, painfully into focus. His eyes were a bit on the watery side when the first shapes and colors took form. Blinking a few times his eyes cleared of moisture and he saw the building clearly. A bar connected by an unpaved parking lot to a two-pump gas station. Both looked deserted apart from a Harley Davidson parked outside of the bar portion of the building, and neon lights on the window declaring ‘open’.  He headed towards the door and opened it, the interior a salve to his gaze sheltering it from the bright sunlight outside.

 

There was only one other person inside the bar aside from himself and that was the bartender.  The man was just shy of six feet tall, had red hair to his shoulders and a beard with hints of grey. He wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans. He didn’t pause from wiping the dark wood of the bar top and merely greeted in an Irish accent, “What’ll it be, friend?”

 

He crossed the distance of the seating floor to the bar and took a seat directly before the bartender.  “Beer, please.”

 

“What’s on tap all right?” He nodded in response and the bartender grabbed a clean glass and pulled down an unmarked tap lever to fill it. Amber liquid foamed thickly filled the glass which was then placed on a cocktail napkin before him. “Who might you be then?”

 

He blinked. The question should be an easy one; certainly; yet for some reason the answer was just on the tip of his tongue and yet inaccessible. He swallowed and was about to apologize for his confusion when he said, “Jim.” He gave the bartender a curt little nod and took a hold of the beer glass, finding that it was chilled. “What’s your name?”

 

“Huiarnviu” said the bartender delighting in the look of abject horror upon Jim’s face at the prospect of having to address him formally. Huiarnviu laughed and leaned his elbows upon the bar and pointed at Jim. “Just for you, I’ll allow you to call me Harvey.”

 

“Thanks.” Jim smiled sheepishly wondering why the sound of his name made his heart beat quicken in his chest. Jim toasted Harvey with his glass and took a sip of beer. The flavors danced upon his tongue and he placed the glass back down on the bar before wiping a little foam from his upper lip. “This is, _really_ good.”

 

Harvey patted a hand upon the bar and grinned. “S’my own special brew that. I’m what you call, a connoisseur of the hops. If it ain’t like heaven in your mouth then it ain’t worth the drinking.” He picked up another glass and poured one for himself, he and Jim clinked glasses and drank.

 

Jim nodded. “It’s so good. Having something like this to drink I can see why you wouldn’t want something inferior.”

 

“That’s the spirit.” Harvey reached across the bar and rested a warm hand upon Jim’s shoulder. It felt so comfortable that Jim leaned into the touch. “I’ve converted another one.” Harvey patted Jim’s shoulder before giving it a light squeeze and withdrew his hand. “The only place you can get that is Donegal.”

 

“Because that’s where you’re from?” Jim asked with a shy smile. Harvey arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“Aren’t you the clever one?” He gave Jim a slight wink and nodded. “That’s true, yes.”

 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Jim began situating his glass upon the cocktail napkin to fit exactly into the previous wet ring. “what are you doing all the way out in the desert?”

 

“No, I don’t mind you asking as long as you don’t mind not having the telling.” Harvey leaned upon the bar once more.  “See, there’s a time in a man’s life when he makes the choice to stay somewhere, or move beyond his home. Now what do you suppose I did, clever Jim?”

 

“Moved beyond.”

 

Harvey nodded once, a sorrowful look shining in his green eyes. “Sometimes beyond isn’t where you’re meant to be.”

 

The words were delivered so profoundly that Jim sat for several minutes absorbing them. “Why? Do you think you made a mistake?”

 

“No. Not me.” Harvey informed raising a palm from the bar. “I’m merely pointing out that it can be an unfortunate choice for some.” He leveled his gaze at Jim and Jim knew he should care more than he did. The beer tasted good and he felt his thoughts were still a bit hazy. He closed his eyes and felt his body sway a little.  “You alright there Jim?” He heard Harvey ask him from what sounded like a distance.

 

Jim opened his eyes and the bar was still empty, Harvey was gone as was the beer he had been drinking. The glass had a few suds left on the sides and bottom, but was otherwise clean. Jim looked around the room and rose from his seat at the bar.  He made his way to the front door and opened it, the sun’s rays jarring for a few seconds until his eyes became used to the brightness. He made his way out into the day, noting that the sun was at its apex in the sky. He walked towards the gas station noticing that there was a car; his car; at one of the pumps. He needed to be somewhere other than in the desert, at a bar; thusly he opened the driver’s side door and got in. The engine started up right away and he listened to it for a few seconds before putting the car into gear and driving away from the gas station. The highway was two lanes in each direction and Jim headed north.

 

He wasn’t certain what the speed limit was, as there were no signs posted along the route, so he kept the speedometer at 60 miles per hour.  He tried the radio only to get static and non-distinguishable voices over the speakers so he gave up on that and drove in silence. He thought about Harvey and felt a bit guilty that he had left without even thanking the man and telling him goodbye. Jim wasn’t certain why it mattered so much, but it did. He could still feel the phantom sensation of the other male’s hand upon his shoulder. It was warm and welcoming.

 

He drove lost in his own thoughts, passing by a few small towns but not many other vehicles, and most of the time there was nothing but desert landscapes around him.  The sun had set at some point he hadn’t been aware of and he elected to pull in somewhere and have a meal. There was a truck stop just off the interstate according to a billboard he passed and Jim saw no reason why not to stop there.  There were a couple of eighteen wheelers parked at the fuel pumps, and a couple of cars in the parking lot. Jim chose one away from the other cars and stretched a little before going inside. The evening was hot, dry and the coming of night would not bring any relief from the heat.

 

Jim entered the diner and obeyed the “ _Seat yourself_ ” sign at the front and selected a booth along the store front windows. He wanted a view of the highway and beginning of the stars coming out one, by one.  He was just about to look around when a familiar looking waitress sidled up to his table. She reminded him instantly of his mother, thin; frowning expression, short gray hair and an air of elegance about her that looked out of place in the tacky mustard colored uniform she wore.  “What’ll it be honey? Or do you want a menu?”

 

“A menu. Please.”

 

She sighed as if put upon and took the laminated menu out from under her arm and placed it on the table before him. Her manicure was too refined, her hands too soft and moisturized to have been a waitress long.  “I’ll give you five minutes. What do you want to drink?”

 

“Water please. And some coffee; black no creamers necessary.”

 

“I’ll be back in five.” She informed moving away from his table as he called his gratitude after her. He heard someone laugh at the counter and looked to see who the man was. He was dressed in jeans, work boots, a flannel shirt and down coat vest, with a trucker’s cap to finish off his ensemble.  His dark hair was short, shined with slick hair products to one side and he wore glasses and a body frame that screamed nerd scientist rather than truck driver.

 

“Is something funny?” Jim asked the man a little impatiently. The giggling trucker turned and looked at Jim.

 

"I can bring tears to your eyes; resurrect the dead, make you smile, and reverse time. I form in an instant but I last a life time. What am I?" he looked at Jim expectantly and his smile faded somewhat, and his laughter ceased. Riddles? Jim was never really one for puzzles that weren't constructed around logic and he sighed softly and shook his head. "Come now. You have to guess." The man said.

 

“What if I don’t want too?”

 

The thin framed man’s face pinched in anger. “Then I won’t help you. And you Jim, can use all the help you can get.”

 

Jim tensed. “How do you know my name?”

 

“Answer the riddle correctly and I’ll tell you.”

 

Jim’s jaw clicked as it set. “I don’t know. Faith?” He said frustration clipping each word.

 

At this the man looked incredulous.  “A memory.” Answered the man with a tisk as he turned back to the counter and his meal. “Such a waste of a good mind. Pity.”

 

Jim frowned and looked at the menu in his hands and began reading it. It bothered him that this man knew his name, and although he looked familiar that Jim still couldn’t place where he knew him from or why. The waitress returned and brought Jim his coffee and glass of water. She placed them upon the table surface and snatched the menu up from him impatiently.

 

“Decided?”

 

He hadn’t, but he ordered anyway the words fading with his speaking them and he shook his head to clear it. A beat later he was staring at an empty plate with the evidence of a hamburger and fries on it. The coffee cup was empty and the glass of water now only half full.  He held a hand to his head, he didn’t recall eating but he must of as he wasn’t hungry now.  The waitress approached his table and put the check face down on it, and walked away never asking him if he was finished or wanted any more coffee.  He watched her leave, struck again by how much of his mother she looked like. Her stride, the way she glided across the two-colored, tiled floor. She had an aloofness that his mother housed, that was unfriendly and off putting. However, when she smiled no matter how fake the gesture looked to Jim, everyone else always warmed to her instantly.

 

Jim picked up the check to read it, and set it back down again as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. It wasn’t there and panic slowly inched up Jim’s spine. He must have it because he paid for the petrol and drink at the bar. Didn’t he? He must have as he left without incurring anyone’s wrath.  Jim reached around to his front jean’s pockets and began to check the right side, when abruptly he felt the sharp jab of his car keys in his hand. He was seated in the car, a truck barreled past on the highway horn blaring for some unknown reason.  Jim looked at his keys and the sky; it was day light. Jim got out of the car and went back into the diner only to find it deserted. Where the trucker had been seated only his green cap remained.  Jim picked it up and gave the interior of the diner one last visual scan before tossing the cap onto the counter and walking back to his car.

 

Pulling out of the parking lot a few minutes later, Jim sat and looked left at the way he had come and right to the opposite horizon. He thought of the beer, of Harvey and turned left and sped down the highway.  The lanes were devoid of other vehicles and as time wore on Jim began to worry that once he arrived at the bar that he would find it deserted as well. The thought made his heart lodge in his throat and he pushed down on the accelerator. The possibility of not finding Harvey was more upsetting than he knew he should be. Especially since Harvey was someone he had barely had a conversation with at a roadside bar. Before he realized it, Jim saw the blip of the gas station and bar on the horizon to the right, and his stomach churned a little less. When he arrived the gas station was still empty but the Harley Davidson was still parked outside the second building.

 

Jim yanked open the door and closed his eyes to help him become accustomed to the dimmer lighting faster. Upon opening them, he heard the Rolling Stones’ ‘Paint it Black’ playing on the jukebox and saw Harvey behind the bar, his back to Jim, towel upon his left shoulder and drying some tumblers with the towel in his right.

 

“What’ll it be, brother traveler?”

 

Jim grinned and relaxed upon hearing the Irish accent. He crossed the room to the bar. “The house specialty. I’ve heard its heaven upon the tongue.”

 

Harvey glanced over his shoulder. “You came back.”

 

“I did.” Jim stated sitting upon the stool just on the opposite side of the bar from his host. “Miss me?”

 

Harvey chuckled and slowly turned around, leaving the tumbler and towel in his right hand upon the back bar. He crossed his arms in front of his ribs and smirked. “Not as I can say. Yet I’m beginning to think t’was I that were missed.” He looked Jim up and scratched at his chin with his left hand, Jim’s eyes transfixed by the action until it stopped. He then held gazes with the older male. “Was I?”

 

Jim nodded and was unable not to smile. “Little bit.” He proclaimed motioning with his right hand the universal sign for the description. He watched as Harvey got him a chilled glass and filled it with the house brew and set it before him upon another cocktail napkin. Jim took a sip and hummed approval from it. Setting the glass back down he rested his wrists upon the bar and held Harvey’s gaze.  “Have you ever felt like you lost time? Like one minute it was day light, some time passed but you’re not certain how much and suddenly it’s night?”

 

“Drunk already are ya?” Harvey asked with a mischievous glint in his eye. When he realized Jim was quite serious his humor faded. “Can’t say as I have. Sounds like a neurological issue; you should have that checked out in hospital, now shouldn’t you?”

 

Jim nodded, but dismissed the immediate need in favor of turning his glass upon the cocktail napkin. The paper moved with his glass. “It happened to me last time I was here. One minute we’re talking, next you’re gone and my glass is empty. I don’t remember what happened in between.”

 

“Stranger things in this life and all that.” Harvey soothed pouring himself some whiskey into the tumbler he had previously been drying. He turned to lean up against the bar and clicked glasses with Jim. He took a sip of his own drink and wiped a hand down over his mouth. “What do you think it means? Losing time?”

 

Jim shook his head. “I don’t know.” He searched Harvey’s expression. “But I like it here.”

 

“Where else have you been?”

 

“There was the gas station, and a diner up the road. Nowhere in particular. I just, _really_ like being here.” Jim paused, lowered his gaze and wet his bottom lip. “With you.” He ventured looking at Harvey once more.

 

Harvey found this amusing and laughed, shook his head and straightened his form as he drained the liquor out of his glass. “You need practice with your flirting, Jim boy. Tell me, what female has ever fallen for that half asleep look of constipation on your face?”

 

Jim blushed and found himself laughing a little as well. He didn’t feel insulted by the question, just embarrassed his attempt at seduction hadn’t been openly accepted. It hadn’t been rebuffed either and that was telling in and of itself. Jim shrugged. “I mostly don’t have to worry about trying, the women usually approach me first.”

 

“Ah, were it that simple for a man like me.” Harvey sighed with longing. He shook his head. “Why don’t you practice a little before you bat your eyes at me again? At least I would know you’ve put the effort in.”

 

Jim frowned. “Doesn’t the fact that I said anything at all count as _effort_?”

 

Harvey shook his head. “It just means you tried once and failed miserably. But you weren’t really trying too seriously, now were you?”

 

“I’m serious enough.”

 

“Then how come I didn’t feel it?”

 

Jim’s brow furrowed. “I’m not responsible for your interpretations of my intent, any more than you are responsible for my feelings.”

 

Harvey nodded once. “An important distinction that. Ah, then we’re agreed. You didn’t try and I want to see you put in more effort.”

 

Anger flashed behind Jim’s blue gaze. “Short of coming back there and sucking your cock, what constitutes as ‘ _putting in effort’_ to you?”

 

“Jim, Jim.” Harvey bemoaned shaking his head and pouring himself another shot of whiskey into his tumbler. “Subtlety is lost on you altogether.” He paused and rolled the amber liquid around in the glass before taking a sip of it and meeting Jim’s stare. “You can suck my cock all you like, now; or later; but why not sit and know me better before you reach into m’trousers?”

 

Jim’s anger fizzled and colored his skin with embarrassment instead. He pursed his lips and nodded a few times before looking up at Harvey. “Touché.” Jim raised his beer glass a little and toasted Harvey, he set the glass back down without taking a sip.  “I would like to know you, very much.” Jim’s gaze televised that he had other intentions in mind for Harvey as well.

 

“Well then; how did I get to be so lucky as to be the object of your desires? Was it my proximity? Or number in the probability of available men you’ve met along the way?”

 

Jim tensed, his jaw locking immediately at Harvey’s choice of words. He felt like he was being challenged, his sexual identity threatened and he rankled against it. “ **Excuse** me?” Jim huffed, spine straightening.

 

Harvey leaned upon the bar once more putting their faces near one another. He had taken note of Jim’s bristling yet flippantly dismissed it as unimportant as he answered the question.  “Did you choose me because I was the first face you ran into here? Or was it for the fact that there’s so few available men around to _tempt_ ya?” Harvey held his gaze steady with Jim’s and drained the last of his tumbler and set the glass down upon the bar silently. “So, which is it, Jim **boy**?”

 

Jim’s teeth ground together and his face was pinched in anger, his hand near to shaking around the beer glass. He jumped when Harvey reached out and placed a hand upon his wrist, eyes never leaving his own. “Careful now there, Junior. Don’t want to break the glass. Would be bad fortune, wouldn’t it?”

 

Jim released the glass and yanked away from Harvey’s touch, nearly knocking the over half full glass over in the process. He narrowed his gaze at the older male and hissed, “Painful.”

 

“To be sure.” Harvey alleged as he pushed back from the bar and straightened his own spine. He watched Jim’s shoulders uncoil a little from extreme tension.  “But that brings us back to my question.  “What makes you desire me?”

 

Jim swallowed even more uncomfortable at being called out regarding his attraction. “I don’t know, just- I just **am**.” This he blurted before he could even think.

 

“Honesty. I see so little of it here.” Harvey smiled with approval. “It suits you more than you accept. Which can be said of many things in your life, I feel.”

 

Jim’s teeth ground together in anticipation of being challenged once more, causing him to issue one of his own. “ _Meaning_?”

 

Harvey laughed. “Everything a battle with you Jim? If that’s the case, you won’t get far in life.” Harvey crossed his arms over his chest. “Now you look as if you’d rather fight me than suck me.”

 

“Or both.” He blushed a little more at having voiced his true opinion, but Harvey took the statement with a chuckle and comfortable smirk.

 

“Let’s get the fighting out of the way then. Does this little disagreement count?”

 

It was Jim’s turn to laugh and he relaxed even more with the exhalation.  “What about the ‘getting to know you better’ before I go for your cock?”

 

Harvey shrugged a shoulder and leaned back against the back bar. “Seems to me as you’re a bit anxious to get on with it. Who am I to deny you getting a leg over between friends?”

 

Jim’s smile grew. “So, we’re friends now?”

 

“If y’like.”

 

“I do.” Jim revealed wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue.  “Should I come to you? Or are you going to come over here to me?”

 

“Oh, I always come to you Jim.”

 

The response struck a chord deep within Jim and he realized it was true. Harvey was the one to always make the first move since they had met; now it should be Jim’s turn. He rose from the bar stool and hopped up onto the bar top. He spun slowly on his ass, bringing his legs up and over the counter and dropped down over the opposite side of the bar to stand before Harvey.

 

“Hey.” Jim greeted moving to place his hands upon Harvey’s hips.

 

“Hey yourself.” Harvey answered gaze locked to Jim’s. He smirked slightly and Jim slowly dropped to his knees never severing their connection.

 

Jim then ran his hands down from Harvey’s hips to his thighs, thumbs skirting along the inseam as he finally severed eye contact. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face firmly across the denim covering Harvey’s crotch. He wanted this, there was no denying the heat that flushed through body at the prospect of Harvey’s scent, taste and weight of him filling Jim’s mouth. He was impatient to discover just what it felt like to have the Irishman down his throat and Jim set about opening Harvey’s belt; and unbuttoning, and unzipping Harvey’s jeans. For the next several minutes all that existed for Jim was Harvey.  His senses were filled with only the older man standing before him. He didn’t concern himself with social morays; didn’t care about where he was or what he felt; his thoughts were still, and all he could concentrate on was the action of suction and release. He took his time wanting the experience to spread out into infinity. The feeling of Harvey’s fingers in his hair, the sounds of both their moans mingling together, everything conspired into a perfect crescendo when finally, Harvey ejaculated down Jim’s throat. It was a bittersweet moment yet one Jim savored none the less.

 

When it was done and Jim had pulled back from milking Harvey’s cock, Harvey ran his thumb over the corners of Jim’s mouth and slowly the younger male rose to stand. Jim held strict eye contact while he tucked Harvey back into his jeans and fastened them and the belt. Jim ran his hand down over the crotch of Harvey’s jeans and groped him slightly before returning his hands to rest upon the older male’s hips. Jim licked his lips and looked from Harvey’s eyes to his mouth and back again. Harvey’s lips quirked upward in a smile and he huffed in a soft laugh.

 

“And what would you be wanting now from me, Jim? A kiss?”

 

Jim nodded and wet his own lips with the tip of his tongue. “I want you.”

 

“Then have me.” Harvey recommended softly. “Life is short and we all are but a wink of in time.” Harvey placed his own hands upon Jim’s sides as Jim leaned up and forward, closing the three inches in height difference they shared. His large, blue eyes fluttered closed as his lips brushed Harvey’s before devouring them in an impassioned kiss.

 

Harvey moaned and pulled Jim against him, their bodies pressed fully together and Jim’s hands moved up Harvey’s back, one closing in the hair dusting the nape of his neck. Jim ground against him, cock full and in desperate need of friction.  Harvey’s hands slid down Jim’s back to grip his ass, to pin their lower bodies as closely together as possible. Jim intensified the kiss, embrace constricting with raw hunger.  In what seemed like seconds later, Jim discovered that the back office of the bar was single room living quarters. Upon the bed, it didn’t take Harvey much fingering to get Jim to climax, cock untouched. By the time he was finished coming, Harvey was hard once more and within seconds Jim was on all fours pushing himself back against Harvey’s steady thrusts.  He felt Harvey’s fingers in the short hair at the back of his head silently willing him to pull on it, or bruise his shoulders by holding him too tightly as he rammed home inside of him. Jim dug his hands and knees into the mattress, pressing down with his shins not wishing to miss as single, forceful, stab of Harvey’s cock.

 

Jim moaned loudly, hissing in pleasure as he tried to grind back against Harvey’s forward momentum, failing due to the harsh impact of Harvey’s hips against Jim’s ass. “ _Fuck_!” Jim half cursed, half directed as he screwed his eyes shut and panted, moaning Harvey’s praises. Harvey rested one hand upon Jim’s shoulder and the other upon a hip as he plunged his cock deeply into his barely known sexual partner.  On and on Harvey pistoned into him, and Jim dropped forward upon his elbows, causing Harvey to rest both his hands upon Jim’s hips.  Each harsh spearing punched a breath out of Jim and he keened, begging for more and receiving it.

 

Jim felt another orgasm building, rocketing up his spine from his toes, all the way through the top of his head. It felt like a searing, blinding, light and he cried out, sensation rolling over him. He felt as if he were shaking apart and attempted to hold on to reality all in the same instant. The explosive force carried him beyond what he ever believed he could feel. The next sensation he was aware of was laying against the warmth of Harvey’s clothed body, still naked and twitching, over sensitive from the pleasure he had experienced.  Resembling a cat, Jim rubbed up against Harvey and intertwined his limbs with the older male’s.

 

“I never want to move.” Jim said sweetly, eyes closed, luxuriating in the bliss of orgasm as well as the soft cotton of Harvey’s shirt, and solid body against his face.

 

“You may well have to.” Harvey chuckled stroking Jim’s hair. The mirth drained out of his voice and he lowered the volume of his tone. “As I said, there comes a time in every man’s life when he as to decide if he should stay, or move beyond.”

 

Jim hummed softly, almost resembling a purr; and he rubbed his cheek against Harvey’s chest and cuddled closer. “Mmm don’t want to yet.” He hugged Harvey tightly. It was unexpected and unbelievable, but for this moment in time Jim Gordon felt at peace.  In the distance, he heard Harvey’s television switch on, he knew there was a program of some sort playing but not what it was, nor what the characters were talking about. He burrowed into Harvey and did his best to block out all sound but that of his and Harvey’s heartbeats.

 

_“BP crashing, we’re losing him!”_

 

_“Clear!”_

 

Jim felt Harvey shift and he hugged tighter. “N-no.” He whined petulantly.

 

Jim’s eyes popped open for a millisecond and in that breath, all he felt was excruciating pain. All he saw were blinding white lights, all he smelled was copper and hospital grade cleaners, and all he heard were doctors and nurses bustling around him trying to take him away from the truest bliss he had ever known.  He called out to Harvey and felt himself slammed downward into darkness, the sounds fading, the sensations lifting and the fear and anger melting away. He felt suspended in water, the pressure of it all about him and he gasped as his lungs filled with it. The prospect was terrifying and cold. He tried to call out to Harvey once more but he was choking, and the world receded into silence.

 

Harvey paced the floor of the waiting room wanting to scream. He was furious and horrifically afraid. He was furious at the influx of law enforcement cluttering the waiting area, lobby check in, and just outside the emergency room entry doors. Where were they when Jim Gordon was trying to clean up the streets of Gotham? Where were they when he radioed for back up? Why did this the department act as anything but just and steadfastly honorable cops? Where were they when Jim needed them to have his back and be his brother in arms against a hail of bullets with only Harvey at his side? Where the fuck was the upper brass? Or the goddamned police commissioner when Jim warned them; **warned** them about the impending gang war about to explode? They had labeled Jim an alarmist, a pain in the ass, an overzealous, self-righteous, boy scout with only his career interests at heart. Jim was someone they rebuffed because he wouldn’t quote, ‘ _get with the program_ ’, take bribes, and turn a blind eye to crime on the streets. They labeled him sanctimonious and dismissed him as cannon fodder to Gotham’s underworld. No one cared about Jim but Harvey, and both were destined to ended up as pictures and black banded, badges on the GCPD lobby wall. From all the blood Harvey gathered that Jim was close to becoming a statistic and he wanted to tear the heads off every cop before him now.  They had no right to be here, to pretend to care whether Jim Gordon lived or died in the next few minutes of emergency surgery. Fuck them and if Jim died Harvey was finished with the department for good.

 

If Jim died? Harvey slammed his eyes closed and didn’t want to even contemplate such an agonizing possibility. There was so much he hadn’t said to the younger man; he hadn’t told him that he was in love with him. He hadn’t shared with Jim all the corners of his heart and soul. Certainly, Jim knew him well enough, but not everything, and Harvey longed to be with Jim now. His heart was in his throat, his gut in his chest, and every breath he took was nearly impossible not to be a sob of grief.  Jim had told Harvey that he was his only true family in life, and now he was dying in an emergency room surgical unit because Harvey would follow him into hell and unfortunately, had. Today had been a day of impossibility manifested in the most terrifying degree.

 

How could this have happened? How could he save Jim? He had already given blood and brow beat half the GCPD into doing the same, regardless of blood type. The ache in his soul was unbearable and waiting for news was even worse.  When would they know if Jim would live or die? When would they break the news to Harvey? He had discovered a few minutes prior to Jim’s much needed surgery. that he was Jim’s medical guardian by proxy should he be incapacitated. Three bullets to the chest and one to the leg certainly qualified for Harvey to uphold his new station. Jim had never told him that he was this vital to his medical care aside from being emergency contact. Harvey wanted to scream, to get into the fetal position and cry his heart out but that would do Jim no good; serve no purpose past making him appear weak in the eyes of his colleagues. For now, Harvey strove to hold himself together. and when a doctor finally did appear, Harvey barreled through the men closest to the trauma unit doors and grabbed the doctor by the am.

 

The news wasn’t good; it wasn’t good at all. There was more of a chance of Jim dying than there was of him making it through the night.  Harvey’s legs nearly went out from under him but he managed to keep his feet. He requested a visitation with Jim and was granted it as the only family member present.  Jim was still in a comma and according to the doctors that was for the best now so his body could attempt to survive.  Harvey had never seen Jim look so fragile as he moved to the younger male’s bedside.  A nurse had confided in Harvey that Jim had called out for him once before surgery began, and that Jim’s heart had stopped prior to making it into the operating theater. Harvey gently took Jim’s pale hand in both of his own and allowed a few tears to escape his eyes.

 

“Ah, Baby.” He whispered barely able to speak. Harvey leaned forward and kissed Jim’s left temple, careful of the ventilator tube sticking out of his mouth, and the wires attached to his heart.  “I’m here Junior.” He whispered barely able to keep his voice steady. “Stay with me. **Please**.”

 

It was the sound of a truck horn that woke him. Jim sat up quickly and realized he was in a strange bed. Looking around, his heart beating wildly within his chest, he took in the décor and realized he was in a motel room. Panting in attempts to get his breathing under control, he threw back the covers revealing his nudity; and rose from the bed. He spied his clothes upon a chair and moved quickly to them. Dressing, he brought his breathing under control and looked around the room. There was no luggage, just his single outfit of clothing and boots. He put them on lastly, sitting in the chair to do so. He next walked outside into the bright day light.

 

The day was hot, the sun high in the sky and the motel was in the middle of nowhere just as all the other buildings he had seen were.  There was no other traffic on the double lane highway, and only his car in the motel parking lot.  Jim took a step forward and felt an immense jab of pain in his lower abdomen. He nearly doubled over and leaned one hand on his car to help keep him upright. The metal of the front fender was so hot it nearly seared his palm. Jim yanked his hand away and buckled over for a few seconds once more regulating his breathing and willing away the pain. After several minutes of breathing and sweating, Jim straightened his form and reached the driver’s side door. Yanking the car door open he climbed inside and gave himself a minute to recover. Just what the brutal anguish meant or not was not as important as it’s vanishing from his body just as abruptly as it had manifested.

 

Jim dug for his keys in his pocket and pulled out of the parking lot. He turned left, heading north on the highway to where he hoped he would find Harvey’s bar and the gas station once more. His body shuddered with pleasure at the inkling of thought and brought a smile to his lips. While he couldn’t remember the exact amount of time that had passed since he had seen Harvey last, he was certain that their previous encounter had been phenomenal.  His stomach dropped in anticipation, desire coiling at the base of his spine, and he gripped the wheel harder. Soon Harvey would be beneath his hands and he would be tasting the older male’s kiss. Jim depressed the gas pedal a little harder and sped down the highway that posted no speed limit. By the time Jim reached the bar he knew it must be late afternoon by the position of the sun in the sky. It was so bright, it was nearly painful to his gaze and hot upon his skin. He wasn’t wearing a watch; which seemed odd, however he wasn’t interested in questioning why just now. He saw the Harley Davidson was still parked out front of the building and he smiled; Harvey would be here.

 

Jim entered the bar and permitted his gaze to become accustomed to the dimmer interior, and looked immediately at the bar. His smile faded as there was no one tending it. Instead, there was a man sitting on the barstool that Jim had once occupied.  Jim gauged him to be either his height or an inch or so taller, his physique incredibly close to his own. He was compact, muscular, had a longer torso and short, cropped. blond hair. His blue eyes were darker then Jim’s, with gray flex running through them and Jim saw by his profile that he was a very handsome man. He was at least two decades older than Jim currently was, and as he looked at Jim in turn he granted him a slight smile of greeting. There was something incredibly familiar about him but Jim couldn’t place his finger on it.

 

“Money or a woman?” The man asked. His cheek bones were cut like Jim’s, his nose larger for his face, his bottom lip plusher than the thin ghost of an upper one. His eye lashes were long, blond and he had deep laugh lines near his mouth and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.  His smile was comforting and Jim found himself drawn to the man instantly, but not in a sexually intimate way as he was Harvey.

 

“What?” Jim asked dumbly seeing the thin, gold, chain around his neck that disappeared into his V-necked light sweater. Jim wondered idly if there were a cross at the opposite end of the chain, or some other medallion charm.

 

“Why are you here?” The man asked in a deep, lulling voice as if the question itself explained everything.  “Financial woes? Or because of trouble with your woman?”

 

Jim found himself grinning at the inquiry and realized that this was what his father used to ask whenever he served anyone a drink in their home. It generally got a laugh and differing answers from couples but Jim remembered the question all the same. “Neither actually. I’m here for Harvey.”

 

The man nodded once and took a sip of what Jim assumed was vodka as the liquid was clear; the possibility of it being gin he dismissed. His father drank vodka, Russian labels only and from a chilled glass whenever possible. “The bartender.” The man stated rather than asked.  “Business or pleasure?”

 

The question surprised Jim and he immediately flushed crimson. “We’re, uh; _friends_.” Jim justified quickly. “So, I suppose, pleasure?” This garnered a laugh out of the man.

 

“You need a drink more than I do, friend. You’re rigid as a flag pole.”

 

Jim’s smile vanished instantly as he thought he had heard the man say, ‘ **fag** _pole’_ rather than what he did say. Bristling, Jim’s spine straightened and he turned his body away from the man in the direction of the bar. He took the stool one over to the left of the other male and sat down.  “Is he in the back?” Jim demanded motioning to the door that lead to the bar kitchen.

 

The man shook his head. “If I offended you, it wasn’t my intent.” He apologized not quite certain why Jim was upset but clearly seeing that he was. “You just carry a weight on your shoulders so vast I can physically see it.”

 

Jim swallowed, wondering if he had made a mistake and misheard the man after all. He turned and looked at the older male abruptly feeling like shit at receiving a sincere apology for something that was all Jim’s fault. “It’s my job.” Jim explained; more his entire life than just his vocation but this stranger needn’t know that. “High stress and little down time.” By choice, but that was what it was like to be Jim Gordon policing Gotham.

 

“Ah.” The man nodded. “Say no more. I’m in that profession myself.” He nodded over towards Jim. “I’m a district attorney. What is it you do?”

 

Jim placed his wrists upon the bar and clenched his fists. “I’m a detective. The department is as corrupt as the streets and I’m trying to change that.”

 

“Alone?” Jim nodded. “Sounds like an uphill battle both ways, in the snow, barefoot, at o’dark- thirty in the morning, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

 

“It’s true.” Jim chuckled at the _‘well in my day young man’_ platitude the older male proclaimed. “I’ll get there though. If I have to become police commissioner myself, at the least the citizens we’re sworn to protect will be able to trust the police again.”

 

The man laughed gently. “Well, sounds like you are a man with an agenda. I wish you all the luck in the world,” He paused. “I’m sorry, we didn’t exchange names.”

 

“Jim.” Jim said extending a hand the man in greeting.

 

They shook hands “My name is Peter; Peter Gordon.”  Their hands barely brushed and Jim felt his stomach drop through the floor, his features paled and his breath froze in his lungs. “Where do you hail from?”

 

“Il-Illinois.” Jim responded releasing Peter’s hand. “Gotham City.”

 

Peter grinned at him. “Is that so? Small world. I’m from Gotham myself. The Gordon’s can be traced back there from the late 1800’s.  Is your family-”

 

“No.” Jim predicted the question of heritage and interrupted. “I’m from the west coast.” He didn’t know why he had chosen that direction but his father accepted it readily and Jim breathed a little easier.

 

Peter nodded and motioned to the bottles on the opposite of the bar. “Well, let me buy you a drink. It’s nice to meet a fellow Gothamite.”

 

“That’s not necessary.” Jim reasoned beginning to panic. His father? How could he be faced with his father and neither of them recognized the other? Jim tried to contemplate the possibilities yet his head began throbbing and the pain in his chest had returned. He breathed shallowly and felt himself begin to shake with adrenaline.

 

“Nonsense.” Peter persuaded reaching over the bar top to pick up a tumbler and grabbed the first bottle he could reach. He poured Jim two fingers worth and put the bottle back behind the counter. “Don’t worry. When the bartender comes back, I’ll pay him.”

 

“I have no doubts.” Jim assured sheepishly as he reached for the drink. It was bourbon and Jim had to resist the urge not to chug it right then and there and pour himself another before Peter could question him as to what was wrong. His knuckles showed white around the glass, but Peter didn’t seem to notice; or at the very least not mention them; as he picked up his vodka glass and toasted Jim.

 

“To adventurous travels.”

 

“To travels.” Jim took another sip of the amber fluid and set the glass down upon the bar, surprised that his hand wasn’t shaking. He watched his father drink and place his glass upon the bar as well. He had seen pictures of that same face, younger and suspended in time, but aged his father was even more handsome than when he was alive. Jim swallowed and exhaled silently feeling lightheaded.  “What brings you out this way, Peter?”

 

“My son.” The revelation was shocking to Jim but he schooled his expression well. “He’s a bit lost and I’m hoping I can help guide him to a decision.”

 

“Your son?” Jim emptied the tumbler this time and reached for the bottle. Harvey would just have to take it out in trade if he wouldn’t accept a credit card. “What sort of trouble is he in?”

 

“I wouldn’t call it ‘ _trouble’_ exactly.” Peter corrected gently. “As I said, he’s just a little adrift.  While I haven’t seen him in a while, I’m hoping he’ll welcome my sympathetic ear and life experience.” Peter nodded and ran his thumb down the outside of his glass clearing a trail through the opaque condensation on the glass.  “We were very close once. I miss that, and I’m guessing he might as well.”

 

Jim bit his bottom lip and pulled it into his mouth. He could feel his father’s blue-gray gaze upon him and Jim was having difficulty looking up at him. Finally, he did; his eyes moist and body tremoring. “What if your son isn’t like the boy you remember him as being when you two were close?”

 

Peter’s expression was momentarily incredulous. “Why would he be? He’s a man now, and men change throughout their years. How could my son be any different?”

 

Jim swallowed. “Because he’s a disappointment?”

 

“I don’t understand.” Peter admitted holding Jim’s stare. “My son could never disappoint me to such an extreme that I would forsake him. If that’s what you’re implying.”

 

It was and Jim tensed, his left cheek twitching and he bit down hard upon his bottom lip as he stared into his father’s open expression.  “He didn’t become a lawyer.”

 

“He’s following his own path. From what I hear he’s an ambitious police detective.”

 

Jim looked down and spun his stool slightly so that his body was facing Peter. He saw by the position of his father’s knees that he had turned to look at him directly as well. “He’s trying to make Gotham a better place to live.”

 

“I know he is. I never doubted that he wouldn’t. Even when he was a little boy he wanted to rescue the world from itself.”

 

A renegade tear fell from Jim’s right eye and streaked down his cheek to the corner of his mouth. He licked it away and quickly and sniffed, hoping to buy himself time to steady his voice.  “He’s been engaged twice, but never married.”

 

“The first engagement, well, they were too young to have worked. The second, well; they had tragedy occur that few couples ever survive. There’s no shame in that, wouldn’t you say?”

 

Jim nodded then quickly began shaking his head. “Not for Leslie and me, but,” Jim fell briefly silent and took a deep breath and slowly raised his head to make eye contact with his father. “Regardless of any of those reasons, I wouldn’t have been able to make it down the aisle. The happily ever after, the wife and two children, it’s not who I **am** ; not someone I **can** be.”

 

Tenderness filled Peter’s gaze. “No. Not with a woman at least.”

 

Jim felt anger slam into his throat choking him as he attempted to breathe past it, nostrils flaring and limbs shaking with kinetic energy. “Don’t, you, say, **that**.” Jim hissed, each word spaced with fury. “You haven’t seen me since I was eleven years old!”

 

Patiently Peter smiled. “Even then, Jim.”

 

“No!” Jim spat standing abruptly from the bar stool. “You **left** me. All I had was **her** , and Roger; Uncle Frank! Do you have any idea how useless they were to me? Every reassurance, every piece of advice, encouragement, or guidance I got from outside sources.  Do you have any idea what it’s like to basically raise yourself, because your mother works long hours and goes on dates after work? To know that she’d rather spend time with anyone else but **you**? And Roger?” Jim scoffed at the reference to his older brother. “He hated me. Even when you were alive you knew that we were night and day; that Roger wouldn’t acknowledge me unless it was mandatory. Now? He can’t be bothered with his younger brother. I have a nephew and a niece I’ve never even met; that I don’t even know, because Roger can’t _stand_ to be in the same room as his faggot brother!”

 

Jim shook his head. “You left me alone with **them** ; with an Uncle, too busy with work and his own life to care about mine.  I raised myself and have the audacity to wonder why I’m so **damaged**. You have no right to stand there and tell me that you knew, or that your sorry, or whatever it is you think you have to say. You died and every part of me that was good and decent was buried with you. I’m not determined to save Gotham because it’s what I know is right, or even want to do; I only act like I care because if I don’t leave a legacy for you that isn’t perverted or shameful, I’ll never be free of trying to live up to what you were; what everyone that knew you said you wanted for me!”

 

Tears streamed freely down Jim’s cheeks and he took a deep breath trying to gather oxygen past the lump of emotion wedged in his esophagus. His chest was burning with the need for it and he was growing more lightheaded with each passing second. Jim grabbed onto the bar stool back with his left hand to steady himself. “What am I supposed to do now?” Jim whispered eyes pleading for mercy. “I can’t live up to the expectation of a god, and I can’t be what I am. So, tell me, _Peter_. What do I **do**?”

 

Peter smiled sympathetically and took a step forward but froze in his approach as Jim fell back a violent step.  “Jim, I’m not a god; and as for any expectations placed upon your shoulders they aren’t mine.  I died and those left behind; including you; created an unrealistic memory of me. You don’t need to work to build **my** legacy; you only need to concentrate on constructing your own.” Peter opened his arms in an inclusive gesture, as well as an unspoken invitation to Jim to embrace him.

 

Jim held out an arm in warning for Peter to not move. Jim reached for a weapon that wasn’t there upon his hip. Feeling foolish he lowered his hand by his side, fist clenching.  “I don’t **want** a legacy.” He admitted defeatedly. “I’m tired, and I just came here to talk to Harvey. Not my dead father.” Jim wasn’t certain what it said about him that he was seeing his deceased father. He vaguely recognized that he should be concerned at seeing Peter; about their entire conversation; yet it felt natural in the scheme of the past few days. He didn’t however enjoy the lapses in memory, nor the fact that it had taken so long for him and Peter to recognize one another.

 

Peter slowly lowered his hands. “Unfortunately, all you have is me to talk too. I want to help you Jim.”

 

Jim shook his head and he closed his eyes for a moment. “Just, go, _away_.” He pleaded hoping that once he reopened his eyes that Peter would be gone and he would either be alone, or in another place. Neither scenario occurred and frustration jabbed at his gut while exhaustion set in him hard enough to make him sit down once more.

 

Peter reached across the bar and took the bourbon bottle once more in hand. He stretched a little but could fill Jim’s tumbler with three fingers of the liquid. He set the bottle down upon the bar and looked from the untouched glass into his son’s face.  “Is he the one?”

 

“What?” Jim demanded distantly, not believing that Peter was daring to continue talking to him. Jim just wanted the conversation to be over; for everything to stop.

 

“This Harvey. You’ve mentioned him.”

 

Jim’s features narrowed and anger flashed behind his gaze. “He’s the bartender.”

 

“And more, I feel.” Peter judged sitting down upon his own bar stool.  “This makes you feel ashamed?”

 

Jim swallowed. “You don’t get to talk about Harvey.”

 

“He’s a secret?”

 

“He doesn’t know how I feel about him!” Jim snapped in annoyance. He realized he had slipped and fury intensified in his tone. “Or what I am.”

 

Peter grunted once, considering this. He considered his vodka glass and then at his son. “Is he a detective as well?” Jim refused to answer yet somehow his expression televised to Peter that his question was an accurate one. “How can he not know then? See you for who you are and how deeply you feel for him?”

 

Both of Jim’s fists clenched. “He’s not a topic of discussion.”

 

Peter sighed silently and drained the last of the vodka from his glass before gently setting it down upon the cocktail napkin.  “You have a decision to make Jim.” Peter revealed softly. “Walk the path you’re currently on, or take a leap of faith and see what else awaits you.”

 

Jim said nothing and snagged the bourbon bottle off the bar and turned in direction of the exit. He would sit in the parking lot in his car and wait for Peter to leave the bar before going back inside. Hopefully by then Harvey would be back tending it. Peter called after him affectionately but Jim ignored the plea and shoved the bar entrance door open so violently that he nearly dropped the bottle. The heat of the sun seared through his clothing and puckered his skin, his eyes completely blinded by the burst of white encompassing him as he stepped out into the parking lot.

 

The clink of silverware upon ceramic, cooking meat, and hushed laughter were the next sounds Jim heard and he raised his head and opened his eyes. Once more he was in the diner, this time standing in the entrance lobby with the waitress glaring at him.  The same waitress that had helped him previously, her name tag read Nora. His mother’s name; his mother’s face. Jim flushed with confusion and slight rage; what right did she have to glare at him?

 

“Well?” She demanded coldly. “Are you going to sit down or not?”

 

“Not.” Jim answered turning back to the door and pushing his way outside. He made it into the parking lot and his car without incident. Within minutes he was speeding down the highway back to the nameless bar and hopefully Harvey.

 

When Leslie Tompkins heard about the shooting she went immediately to Gotham general in hopes of checking in on Jim. What she faced were I.C.U. nurses explaining to her that ex-fiancés didn’t count as immediate family. When she happened to get a glance of Harvey exiting the room down the hallway she called out to him. Harvey had been his way to the men’s restroom but instead headed the opposite direction towards the nurses’ station.

 

“Lee?” Sympathy encased Leslie’s features as she noted how worn and devastated Harvey appeared.

 

“Harvey, I’m sorry. I heard on the news and I just had too,” She paused allowing the _‘I couldn’t help myself’_ left unspoken. “The details were so few and I had just hoped,” She paused and reached out to take one of his large hands in her cool, slightly shaking one. “Are you alright? Have you been with him the entire time?”

 

Tears pricked Harvey’s eyes at her kindness of inquiring about his emotional state. “I was there when it happened, when they took him to surgery, I’ve been with him every step of the way.” It was more than apparent he was remaining steadfast in his vigilance by Jim’s side.  “I’m sorry, Leslie; but I really need to hit the head and then get back to him. I don’t want him to be alone if he wakes up.”

 

Concern flooded Leslie’s features. “If? Is he not stable yet? I don’t understand.”

 

“He’s stable.” Harvey assured her squeezing her hand. “since early this morning but, he’s in a coma and the doctors can’t say for certain if he’s going to survive this or not. You know how they are; always assuming the worst.”

 

She nodded knowing different as it was her profession in question and she smiled gently and squeezed Harvey’s hand. “Please, if you need anything; anything at all; just call me and I’ll do whatever is needed.” She released his hand to reach into her small purse and withdrew a business card. She handed it to him before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. “I mean it, Harvey. Whatever _either_ of you need.”

 

“Thank you, Leslie.” Harvey stated around a thick clog of emotion. He turned away from her a few seconds later and tucked her card into his suit coat pocket, and headed in the direction of the bathroom. He closed his eyes and clutched the bathroom sink trying to keep himself from swaying upon his feet. He was exhausted and seeing Jim’s ex was not something he needed to deal with on top of everything else. She was a good woman; meant well, and was sincere in her offer; but Harvey knew that he wouldn’t be calling on her for help anytime soon.  Jim was his to take care of now; or would be once the younger male decided he had, had enough of the coma and wanted to wake up. They needed to have a long overdue discussion regarding the parameters of their relationship. It was time that Harvey verbally told Jim what he wanted instead of waiting patiently for the younger detective to figure it out and acknowledge Harvey’s abiding affection for him for what it really was. Harvey needed to know if Jim was just pretending to be blind, or he honestly didn’t realize and accept that Harvey was in love with him, or merely didn’t care.

 

A few minutes later Harvey returned to Jim’s room, his bedside vigil, and went back to holding Jim’s hand.  “C’mon Junior.” He almost whispered as if Jim were merely asleep rather than in a coma. “I need you. Come back to me, okay? Enough is enough already. It’s been nearly a week now. My back can’t take much more of this fucking chair.”

 

The bar; _finally_ , Jim had reached his destination. The sun was setting and Jim rushed to the door of the building and flung it open. The juke box was playing Buddy Guy’s “Feels like Rain”, and Harvey was out from behind the bar wiping down the tables, with a bus boy’s tub partially filled with soapy water and a dish towel.  “Welcome friend, and what will you be drinking this evening?”

 

“You.” Jim exhaled breathily as he crossed the distance from the door to where Harvey stood. Surprised, Harvey looked up from his cleaning and smiled at Jim.

 

“Will I be putting that on your tab then?”

 

“Yes.” Jim silenced as he took Harvey in his arms and kissed him fiercely. Harvey permitted the kiss, yet when it finally severed so that they both could breathe, he placed a hand upon Jim’s chest and slowly pushed him back a little.

 

“Is that all you’ve come for?”

 

“No.” Jim chuckled not letting go of Harvey quite yet. “But it’s a start.”

 

Harvey nodded and considered Jim’s implication. “And what if I don’t want the same?”

 

Worry edged it’s way immediately into Jim’s features and he swallowed. “This isn’t a joke, Harvey. I came here for **you**. To _be_ with **you**. Not just to fuck around or leave again. I’m here to stay.”

 

“Mmm.” Harvey grunted and applied more pressure to Jim’s chest and took a step backward severing Jim’s embrace. “The time has come for you to make that choice we spoke of; do you stay where you are? Or move beyond?”

 

“Harvey what are you saying? I just told you; I want to stay with you. Here, somewhere else; it doesn’t matter to me. Look, I realize we may not know each other that well, but I want too: I **want** to know you. Are you telling me that you don’t feel the same?”

 

“No, nothing of the sort: I’m not saying that at all.” Harvey assured rubbing slight circles upon Jim’s chest to soothe him.  “But how I feel is irrelevant to you making your decision. If you stay, or move beyond: both carry consequences. For you and for others.”

 

“If you tell me to, ‘choose wisely’ I may just punch you.” Jim teased half-heartedly. It was a movie quote from somewhere but it didn’t matter. He was abruptly certain that Harvey was attempting to relay something of vast consequence to him regarding his decision. While stating he would remain was easy, yet just what was he agreeing too? Would the time lapses continue? Would he be forever become aware one place and must race back to the bar and Harvey? Would he and Harvey grow to love one another? Or would they merely be friends? Or perhaps turn enemies? If he ‘ _moved beyond’_ just where was that anyway? Would Harvey go with him? The more he considered his choices the more Jim realized he had neither the data nor assurances enough to decide.

 

Harvey withdrew his hand from Jim’s chest and took a decisive step backward from him severing all physical contact. “It’s time to make your choice, Jim boy.” Harvey stated softly.

 

At the words Jim immediately felt physical pain in his chest; sharp and acidic as it spread throughout his entire being. He couldn’t breathe and he felt the weight of the atmosphere constricting around him. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing but a mechanical gasp sounded. He heard frantic yelling, felt like he was being yanked from one end of the bar to the other.

 

“Decide.” Harvey’s voice whispered in his head as Jim was sucked backward through the bar doors in too the dark and cold night. He reached out for Harvey, wanted to call out for him; to him; but his air way felt obstructed and he desperately ached for him.

 

_Stay._

 

The word was barely thought and Jim’s eyes snapped open. He was surrounded by people loudly giving him directions and warning him to relax; informing him that he had a respirator tube down his throat and to quit fighting them. His chest was bare, there were electrodes attached in specific places upon his body and the light was too bright in the room. He was frantic and flailing but strong hands moved to pin him down. He felt a stinging sensation at his forearm as a sedative was injected into his I.V. port. The voices around him were growing softer and he felt as if his spine were being pulled out of his chest and throat but once the sensation passed he gasped for air and his face was covered in a claustrophobic oxygen mask as he was instructed to remain calm once more. Seconds, or minutes later the mask was replaced by nasal tubing and a doctor was talking to him.

 

Something about his throat, about being shot; shot? When had that happened? Jim couldn’t remember. There was however something he wanted to say and his mouth opened and he was advised not to speak. It felt like the word was pulled out of him like a chain of broken glass in his throat but he said it:

 

“Harvey.”

 

A woman’s voice informed him quickly that he was just outside. Another voice told him that he could see him shortly. All Jim could do was nod before unconsciousness swept over him once more.  Jim’s eyes fluttered open an hour later and the room was dimmer and he felt someone holding his hand. He turned his head upon the pillow and made eye contact with Harvey’s soft, green eyes, which widened in shock and the older male jumped up to his feet.

 

“Jim! Holy fuck, Junior is it good to see you awake.”

 

Jim didn’t know just how awake he was, but gone was Harvey’s Irish accent and Jim frowned slightly; he missed it. Awake? Had he been asleep? He couldn’t recall. He couldn’t recall much of anything. But every damn inch of him hurt and he wanted to ask Harvey questions but when he parted his lips to speak and a fractured croak immitted from him, Harvey held up a hand in warning.

 

“Don’t try it Brother. Look, I know you have got questions galore, but I’ll tell you all the answers if you just stay silent, okay? You had a ventilator tube down your throat for the past three weeks and, and it’s gonna take a little time for your voice to come back. Let yourself heal, would ya?” Jim was an impatient son of a bitch, and though Harvey loved him for his flaws as well as his strengths, he hoped that the younger male would take his advice and remain silent.

 

Jim reached out with a hand, gaze filling with tears and panic. Witnessing his duress Harvey reached for the flailing hand and clutched it in his own.  “It’s okay, Jim. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been with you the entire time.” As close to it as he could come without having to resign his position at the GCPD. Jim tugged at his hand weakly and Harvey leaned forward. “Shh.” He informed stroking back Jim’s hair with his opposite hand. Jim tugged once more and Harvey realized he wanted him to lean closer to the bed. He moved until his ear was before Jim’s lips and opened his mouth to instruct Jim not to say a _‘damned word’_ , but was preempted by Jim’s lips covering his own, a determined tongue snaking into his mouth.  Harvey rested a hand upon Jim’s cheek and kissed him in return, half delirious with gratitude and half believing it was a fantasy and he was asleep.

 

When the kiss severed Jim placed both his hands upon Harvey’s shoulders and their gazes locked. Silently Jim mouthed the words, ‘ _I love you’_ and tears flooded Harvey’s gaze.  “It’s about damned time, Junior. I love you too.” Harvey kissed Jim tenderly and once parted their foreheads touched together. There was much that needed saying but for now Harvey would fill Jim in on everything he had missed, hoping to answer all of Jim’s questions without the younger male having to ask. He would get him a pad and pencil later but for now, all he wanted to do was kiss him tenderly and thank everything that was holy that Jim Gordon was alive.


End file.
